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Friday 28 June 2013

Christine Murray


the feather-hook is a seed spiralling in the breeze,
a false signal

it mocks the mayhem of the caught moth down to
its nub stone

its plane is a shell network of dried skin, veined even
- it has a spine of sorts

it mocks the mayhem of the caught moth down to
its nub stone


the red rope is looped around the neck
and brought down the back to the bra-line

it tightly binds across the top of the chest and
is looped down to the cunt-lips separating them

held-to and pulled in the back arches back
bow-bent as if its wood had seasoned in

an iron girder above hot embers and released
steam onto a still lake the hook retracts when

the dress slides into a bluey ripple onto the boards
there are six hooks embedded into the ceiling

stockings catch up the desert breeze on a small
balcony, a strip of silk portholes the room and

sutras are tacked into the walls the hooks do not
look as if they could carry the weight of an inert body

spider-rolled silk-skeined red-cocooned
the bird panics spider-fruits from under
dry eaves

these net-webs are laden with the small dead
best not to move he is demented with hunger.



outside the ragged bird panics
dead flies from the window nets
yet it is not clothed right
- it claws the glass

Christine Murray is a City and Guilds Stone­cutter. Her poetry is published in a variety of magazines and ezines. She has reviewed poetry for Post (Mater Dei Institute), Poetry Ireland and Chris blogs at Poethead, A Poetry Blog. Her chapbook, Three Red Things was published on June 4th 2013 by Smithereens Press, Dublin, Ireland. 

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